The Heirloom by Beverly Lewis EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Beverly Lewis
- Language: English
- Genre: Inspirational Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 13.3 MB
- Price: Free
Ella Mae carried her round yellow teapot with its padded tea cozy to the
trestle table in her sunny kitchen and placed it in the center. She’d just
finished steeping her favorite peppermint tea this lovely Wednesday, the
eighth day of June, expecting a visit from her eldest daughter. Last Sunday,
Mattie had made a point of telling her she planned to drop by today.
Mattie’s husband, David, was the older brother of their newly ordained
young bishop, John Beiler, but Ella Mae doubted this visit had anything to
do with church.
No, she was quite sure of Mattie’s reason for coming. There’s a bee in
her bonnet.
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Eyeing her placemats, where two small yellow-and-white plates matched
the teacups and saucers, Ella Mae was ready to hear Mattie out and then
politely set her straight. And the freshly baked maple-syrup-and-sour-cream
muffins might just help her cause.
She’d risen early to redd up the house, mopping all the floors on the main
level as well as sweeping the long and deep back porch adorned by hanging
baskets of Boston ferns. But now she was glad for a rest. Since her
husband’s passing five months earlier, she hadn’t felt nearly as peppy. Yet
according to her widowed cousins and other womenfolk, this was to be
expected.
Still, she yearned for her departed husband. Despite her advanced age of
seventy-seven, she’d been his caretaker. Joseph’s smile and gentle spirit, no
matter his ailing, had brightened her days. Devoted to him since their
marriage over five decades ago, she was still attempting to create new daily
patterns. But it was as hard as trying to change the design of a finished
quilt.
Near impossible.
Just this morning, she’d caught her breath at the sight of the oval rug
she’d braided specifically for Joseph’s side of the bed, so his bare feet
wouldn’t touch the cold floor if his slippers weren’t handy. It was that way
with other insignificant things, too, nearly every time she turned around—
so many reminders of their shared past. Yet she kept this to herself, not
wanting her family and others to fret over her.
Truth be known, she still slid her hand across the bedsheet at night,
missing Joseph, whose weakened heart had simply given out. Sometimes
she even called to him while making breakfast, for the moment forgetting
he wasn’t over in the corner of the kitchen reading Die Botschaft. Or sitting
out on the porch to watch the lively hummingbirds at the feeders or their
young great-grandsons swinging double on the tire swing in the side yard,
not far from the rustic rose arbor.
She sighed, tears welling up. How long before I feel a smidgen normal, O
Father?
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